


Drollies

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode "Eye for an Eye."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drollies

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #13 under the pen name Llyr Chaves.

_"I am not stonewalling you."_

 

          Sitting on the couch in the living room, Suzanne watched her daughter poring over several opened books.  Debi turned the pages with a rapt curiosity that only a budding teenager could manage.  Occasionally she paused, scribbling a note into an open notebook with a purple pen.

          Her daughter was obsessed, completely and totally obsessed.  It was probably a simple case of puppy-love, or some such pubescent rite of passage.  After all, Suzanne had done something of the same thing at her daughter's age, but her fixation had been on Rock Hudson, star of the romantic comedies that filled her weekend hours.  Suzanne smiled.

          It was just a normal part of growing up.  And, with Debi's birthday party and the trip to Grover's Mill, it made sense that the girl was a little more focused on Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse…

          Debi closed the books and Suzanne caught sight of the titles for the first time.  _The Long Grey Line_ , _The History of West Point_ , _History of the U.S. Military Academies_ , and _Women in American Military Academies_.

 _Okay, so maybe this isn't exactly the kind of crush I thought it was_ , she thought.

          "Whatcha doing?" the microbiologist asked her daughter casually.

          "Huh?" Debi said, looking over her shoulder to her mother.

          "I said, what're you doing?"

          "Reading," she replied, collecting the books into a stack.  Scrambling to her feet, Debi hefted the collection.  "I have to take these back to the colonel's office."

          "Okay," Suzanne said, watching her daughter go.  _What is she up to?_

          She waited until she heard Debi pounding upstairs before she pushed off the couch and headed for the colonel's office.  Knocking once, she pushed the door open, "Paul?"

          "Come in," the soldier said, looking up from his own work.  "Something wrong?"

          Suzanne shook her head, slipping into a chair.  "No, I was just wondering…"

          "What?"

          "What's Debi doing?"

          "Doing?" Ironhorse asked, the black eyebrows climbing a fraction of an inch.

          Suzanne leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.  " _What_ is she doing?" she repeated.

          "She borrowed a few books," he said, honestly confused.

          "I know that," the microbiologist sighed.  "Why?"

          "To read?" he offered.

          Suzanne dropped back against the chair.  "Why do I feel like you're both stonewalling me?"

          Ironhorse looked hurt.  "I assure you, Doctor.  I am not stonewalling you."

          "Then would you be so kind as to tell me _why_ my daughter is reading about West Point?"

          Ironhorse blinked.  "I don't know."

          "You don't know?"

          "She asked me if she could borrow the books, I said yes.  End of discussion."

          "I see," Suzanne said, standing.  "Well, if you figure it out before I do, would you please let me know?"

          "Of course," Paul assured, looking back down at the stack of pages.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After supper the residents of the Cottage settled into the living room, each occupied with their own diversions.  Debi entered with her notebook and sat down on the floor near Ironhorse, who rested cross-legged in front of the fireplace, open journal in his lap, writing.

          "Colonel?" she said softly.

          He looked up and seeing the girl's serious expression dropped his pen into the journal and closed it.

          Suzanne's gaze slipped over the top of her journal.  Harrison and Norton both shifted to watch the scene in their peripheral vision.

          "I have a few questions," she said.  "If you're not too busy."

          "What kind of questions?"

          "About West Point."

          "Oh?" he said, refusing to look up at the other Project members and wishing that she'd picked his office for the conversation.

          "They let women in, right?"

          "Yes," he said.  "Since 1976."

          "And they do all the same things that the men do?"

          The colonel nodded.  "With a couple of modifications, yes."

          "What's the plain?"

          "That's the large open field the cadets march formations in."

          "Oh," she said, opening the notebook and thumbing past a couple of pages.  "And they have cows there?"

          "Cows?" the colonel echoed, momentarily at a loss.  "Oh!  No, not cows like you're thinking."

          "There are other kinds of cows?"

          Suzanne stifled a snicker.

          "No," Paul assured her.  "Each class of cadets has a nickname.  Freshmen are called plebes, sophomores are called yearlings, and juniors are called cows."

          "Why?"

          "Because the junior class does a lot of marching on the plain…  You know, like cows spending a lot of time out in a field."

          "Oh," Debi said, understanding the allusion.

          "That's all?" he asked, wishing the others weren't so damned interested in the conversation.

          She checked her notebook.  "Oh, what's a droolie?"

          Ironhorse's mouth opened to reply, but the answer stalled in the back of his throat.  He felt the blush creeping up his neck, nothing he could do to stop it.  It flashed across his cheeks and settled on the rim of his ears, turning them a deep red.

          "Uh…"

          Debi looked innocently at him, waiting for the answer.

          "I… uh…"

          "Don't you remember?"

_It would be so easy to say no..._

          "No."

          "Oh," she said, her brow furrowing.  "Maybe I can find it somewhere."

          "No.  I remember," he corrected, not wanting to lie to her.

          "Oh?"

          "They're…"  He trailed off, knowing full well that the others were waiting for the answer as eagerly as Debi.  "Hmm… clothes."

          "Clothes?" Debi repeated.  "What kind?"

          He wanted to close his eyes and hide.  "Underwear," he said softly.

          "Like T-shirts and socks and—"

          "No," he interrupted, knowing he had to bite the bullet on this one.  "Shorts.  Briefs.  Boxers, actually."

          Norton snorted and Suzanne giggled.

          Debi looked confused.  "Why do cadets hang _those_ on flag poles?"

          The three civilians chortled.

          "It's a… tradition, sort of," he explained.  "A trick upper classmen play on lower classmen."

          "Why?"

          He squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, then answered honestly.  "Because there's just a certain satisfaction that you can only get from watching the face of some plebe or yearling who's just realized that it's _his_ boxers flappin' up there on the flag pole."

          "What does he do?" Debi asked.

          "He salutes them, of course," the colonel replied seriously.

          Debi shook her head.  "Guys are weird."

          "They certainly are," Suzanne agreed.

          The girl looked back to the colonel.  "But why boxers?  Aren't they all floppy?"

          Harrison and Norton burst into laughter.

          Debi scooted around.  "What?"

          They waved the question off.

          "Yes, Debi," Ironhorse said, deciding he had to play it out and play it straight.  "But when you're wearing scratchy wool uniform pants, having those loose shorts between you and them is a blessing."

          It took her a moment, but realization dawned.  "Oh!"  She opened her notebook and scribbled a few words, then looked up.  "Do you wear droolies now?"

          "No, Debi," he said, his ears going another shade darker.  "BVDs."

          She opened the notebook and scribbled another note.

          Suzanne leaned over, trying to read over her daughter's shoulder.  "What are you working on?"

          "Research."

          "For what?" Suzanne followed up.

          "I'm trying to decide which academy I'm going to go to," the girl stated matter-of-factly.  "But they all do stupid things like hanging underwear on flag poles."

          "Stupid?" the colonel nearly squeaked.

          Debi stood.  "Thanks," she told Ironhorse, then turned to her mom.  "I'm going to go finish my homework now."

          "Okay, I'll come check it when you're done."

          When Debi was gone, the colonel glanced down at his journal and shook his head.  "Stupid?"

          "Well," Harrison said, "you have to admit that running someone's underwear up a flag pole is a little juvenile."

          "Juvenile?"

          "If the droolie fits…" Suzanne said, disappearing behind her journal.

          Ironhorse pouted.  _Civilians.  How could they possibly understand?_


End file.
